


Roadtrip

by KungfuChicken



Series: A quiet life [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:52:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KungfuChicken/pseuds/KungfuChicken
Summary: Sandor Clegane decides to check out of the Westerosi Rehab and Spa Center that is the Quiet Isle. The treatment was good but the required price was too hefty.





	Roadtrip

He had made camp for the night, built a small fire and ate some of the bread and sausage the monks had given him. Stranger was contentedly dozing, attached to a tree. The stallion seemed glad to have escaped the Quiet Isle and the monks. He was much calmer now that they had left. The brothers on the Quiet Isle and his horse had gotten off on the wrong foot spectacularly. The attempted gelding had not sat well with Stranger and like his master, the stallion knew how to hold on to a grudge. It was clear that Stranger did not trust the monks one bit after they had come for him with the gelding knife. And Sandor could have sworn that his horse relished in terrorizing them on purpose as punishment. Much like he had enjoyed to shock some of the more sanctimonious ones with a display of colourful language unheard of on this pious spot of the seven kingdoms. The scandalized looks on their faces alone had been worth Elder Brothers admonitions afterwards. The quiet, pious life that had been imposed upon him and his horse had become too much to bear for everyone involved. Sandor was thankful that Elder Brother had taken him in and patched him up. But he did not fit the life that was required, should he want to stay. If he stayed, it would be like he had been gelded, that was the way Sandor saw it. And in this matter his stallion and him were of a like mind. 

Most of these so called monks were frauds in his eyes anyway. Elder Brother had told him that some of the brothers had come here to repent their old lifes and sins in silence and prayer. Bugger that! Avoiding punishment by donning a monks attire and hiding behind the altars of the Seven, that was what they did, nothing more. And on the Quiet Isle they had found themselves a cozy hiding place indeed! Elder Brother try and might say it was not so as long as he wanted. Sinful men usually did not trade their sinful ways for the pious, uneventful life of a monk. Sinful men enjoyed doing what the laws of gods and men forbade far too much. Most of them did not care for rules and regulations other than their own. Most of them never even bothered with the gods. He should know, he had met enough of them. Seven hells, he was one of them! For all he knew, Elder Brother could be hiding the worst scum Westeros had ever produced united and protected by silence and faith. He did not want to be part of this mute mummery. He wanted to be gone from this silent dead end. He had things to set right. If there were consequences to be faced, he would face them. If it was the last thing he ever did, then so be it.

Stranger and him left as soon as his leg would allow him to travel. Elder Brother had tried to talk him out of it. In the end Sandor had won the argument by pointing out that it was Elder Brothers own fault that he could not find peace here, because thanks to Elder Brother‘s carelesness a Hound was still at loose. 

So him and his horse were once again on the road. It felt different though. There was a lot less drinking and hangovers involved for one. Or maybe it was because he now had a bad leg and couldn’t risk being reckless. Maybe it felt different because he relied on a monk‘s robe and hood for protection instead of a sword. A small voice in his head kept telling him not to forget that Elder Brother had assured him that he would always be welcome on the Quiet Isle, should he ever change his mind. The thought of having a safe place to go back to, should everything around him fall apart, was new. Elder Brother was as stubborn as a mule and still believed that there was good in him. He had not given up on him like everyone else had before. Sandor did miss him although he damned the man for his intrusion into his most private thoughts. Baring his soul was the part he did not miss. 

But he needed to focus on what he would do when he came upon the false Hound. He did not know it yet, but he would work something out. He always had. There had been no sign of outlaws yet, but he had discovered quickly that people opened up to a travelling monk without thinking twice about it. The further he ventured into the Riverlands, the sooner he would sniff out their tracks.

The night seemed peaceful. He was just about to slip into his bedroll when he heard hooves approaching. 

They left Pennytree alone in the dead of night and had been riding for almost two days straight now. Where the wench meant to take him he could not fathom. All she had said when she had suddenly turned up, was that the Hound had Sansa Stark an threatened to kill her. Now how Sansa Stark had suddenly popped up in this part of the Riverlands that had literally been upended by war, was another mystery he could not wrap his head around. But he swore an oath to the mother of the girl and he intended to keep it for his own sanity. So Jaime Lannister had to go and investigate. 

Once again it was just him and Brienne. But this was not the wench he used to know. By the looks of it she had had it rough since they parted ways in Kings Landing. She had a fresh, gruesome wound on her cheek. She looked haggard and drawn, sickly even. And she remained silent despite his dogged attempts to get to the bottom of her tale. But what troubled him most was that she could not look him in the eyes. Something was very wrong. 

The night had fallen and he was desperate for some sleep.

„Be sensible Brienne. Let’s make camp for the night. We will never rescue Sansa Stark if we fall from our horses with exhaustion. And the Hound will not settle for a snoring contest, that is a given.“ 

So far all they had encountered were some farmers trying to save what was left of their crops and shooing away their wifes and children into hiding at their sight. And more crows than he had ever cared to see. The Riverlands, once fertile meadows full of grain, fruit and livestock had become an endless desert of mud, ashes and bones, shrouded by grey clouds and an ever present drizzle. Jaime felt as grey and gloomy as the landscape they passed. To his surprise Brienne conceded, suggesting they went beyond the next hill and into a small wood where there might be at least some protection from the rain. When they entered the small forest they noticed that someone made camp there before them. And he had heard them coming. 

Two horses with two men leading them by the reins materialized into the light of his small fire. They were warriors by the look of it for they were tall and wore armour and sword. Perhaps they had hostile intentions, perhaps not. He would find out soon enough. So he stood up and grabbed his long, solid staff with both hands. His stance inviting them to come at him if they dared and see what would happen. One of them looked vaguely familiar with short blond hair and a greying short beard. Sandor saw he was missing his right hand. If this had been his sword hand he would pose no threat. The other was almost as tall as he was himself, with dark blond, unkempt hair, freckles over a crooked nose, pouty lips and a set of prominent teeth. Had he not had a fresh looking injury on one of his cheeks and a feverish look in his eyes, he would have been the one to worry Sandor. But all in all those two somehow seemed too low-spirited for an attack. But then the knight with the wound on his cheek asked in a soft and melodious voice if they could share his fire for one night. Well, bugger him sideways! He had never seen anything like it but this was a woman! 

They apparently seemed to have stumbled on a wandering monk, maybe even a warrior of the faith on his way to Kings Landing. When they approached, he took a stance Jaime understood all too clearly. This was a man used to fighting. He was tall, even taller than Brienne. The fact that he held only a big wooden staff had no calming effect. These days a man could overcome the famed Kingslayer by brandishing a knitting needle. And Brienne was weakened by sickness and depression. Maybe it was best to just leave. But the next second Brienne already had asked if they could share his fire. The man stood still for a seemingly endless instant then he incredoulosly rasped : »Bugger me sideways! You are a woman? »

Now this was rude! And curious, because Jaime knew that voice. And come to think of it, he knew that black horse he saw staring at them malevolently from the background. Before Jaime could stop himself he heard himself shouting „Clegane! The game is up! Hand over Sansa Stark and we might still let you live!“ across the small clearing. At that the big man took a few steps towards him. Jaime noticed that he had a pronounced limp. Clegane threw off his hood, followed by an incredulous „ Jaime Lannister? “

Of all the people currently roaming the Riverlands, they had stumbled upon the Hound! But this meant that Sansa Stark was hidden away somewhere too, or did it not? He looked over to Brienne and to his bewilderment she looked as spooked as if she had just seen some horrible ghost. True, the Hound was a frightening sight but surely she had known that he had made camp here. Why else would she have led him to this place if not to slay the Hound and free Sansa Stark? The next moment he heard her mumble weakly something that made even less sense.

„But Elder Brother told me you were dead…“

**Author's Note:**

> Cliffhanger... Sorry about that. But as soon as inspiration hits it will be an epic roadtrip for these three, Podrick Payne and maybe Ser Hyle Hunt. Or something else entirely, we shall see.


End file.
